


Touch

by GintokisGirl95



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, They're broken but they'll be okay eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7748284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GintokisGirl95/pseuds/GintokisGirl95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you think it's possible for two broken souls to mend one another? To where they are both whole?"</p><p>"I hope it is possible, for our sake, little wolf."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

The winter chill was gone and the warm spring breeze sung in the trees in the godswood. The trees themselves were gorgeous in the springtime; they were in full bloom, and the heart tree began to show its five-pointed, blood red leaves for all to see. The evergreens - the spruces, ironwoods, live oaks, and pines were just as beautiful to Arya, with the winter snows finally melted away, and the familiar scent that accompanied the small forest - which was like that of a constant rain - was just as soothing as she remembered it to be. The smell filled her nose and lungs and calmed her senses as she held her brother's hand while he led her to the area, and it made praying much more tranquil. 

This was the only place that went untouched by the Ironborn or the Boltons, and for that, she was grateful. 

"I'm not the same person I was before. I don't know what it is, exactly, but I just _feel_ it." It was the first thing that he said as they sat together in the midst of the trees.

"Do you remember what you told me before you left? The first lesson of swordplay. 'Stick 'em with--"

"'--the pointy end,'" he finished, just like he used to so long ago. She shot him a tiny smile and he returned the gesture with one of his own. "Yes, I remember. It was the lesson I gave you before I left."

"Not all of you is lost, Jon," she mumbled. She knew that the memory was just as sweet but equally as bitter for him as it was for her. 

"I know," he replied, "but there is a part that _is._ "

She knew. Every word that came from his mouth were innocent enough, but the look in his eyes told something different. They were missing something, they were empty, and they were familiar to her because they were exactly like her own. The light that was once there no longer shone. 

_We should never have left,_ she thought sadly. She often wondered how better things would be if everyone had just stayed at home, at Winterfell. Alternatively, she also wondered if something worse could have happened that would have torn the family asunder in a different way.

She knew she could trust Jon - they've always shared secrets - secrets that they would not dare tell anyone else - so she thought it slightly appropriate to reveal something to him now.

"When I trained to become a Faceless Man, I killed. I poisoned people, I stabbed people, I slit their throats. I've even killed before I left Westeros. When you left me here, I lost a part of me. When Father died, I lost another part, like I was being chipped away at each turn," she realised that her voice wasn't as shaky as she felt. Somehow, it felt refreshing, telling the Old Gods her sins, confessing before the heart tree. She continued as she stared at the seemingly bloody, carved white face. "Both of those events caused me to feel...numb. I knew that I'd have little to no family left after the war started. I had hopes about coming back when I heard that you became Lord Commander of the Night's Watch; I knew that even after all of the bad things I've done, you'd accept me, rustle my hair and call me your little sister, your little wolf. Thinking about you was what made me get through my training at the House of Black and White." 

She was rather surprised that he didn't ask any further about her time in Braavos. But she knows that she'll have to tell him sooner, rather than later. His face was solemn, much like their father's when he intently listened to someone, holding her hand as she told them - both Jon and the many nameless Old Gods - the truth. She knew what he was thinking, though - _she shouldn't have gone through this. Why are the Gods so cruel sometimes?_

"Arya," he said softly. She felt his eyes on her, and she turned to meet him. She knew that he didn't really know what to say after that, ending with, "it…it was the same for you."

She almost wanted to smile. 

"I'm not the same girl you remember, Jon, and you're not the same boy I remember when we were just kids here. We're much older now…everything is different. Like we're familiar strangers, of some sort." 

It was true, they were different now. They were two people shaped by war, shaped by the torment and disasters that arose from such a time. Their personalities were weathered by deaths and time, it is known. 

Jon uttered a small sigh after moments of pure silence, dropping his head before he began to speak again. 

"Sometimes when I wake up, I don't know who I am, or what my name is. I don't know why I fought and I cannot remember where I am, most days. Most of the dreams I have anymore are of me swimming in a vat of darkness and I don't understand why the sorceress decided to bring me back. I cannot recall Sansa, Ser Davos, or Tormund…but somehow when I see you, I start to remember again. The past comes back to me and I remember most things." His confession hurt her. She didn't want him to feel like this; it was so painful for her to hear. A lump caught in her chest when he rose his head and she saw the defeated, desperate look raw and burning in his eyes. "Why, Arya? Why did I fall in love with you all those years ago?"

She didn't know how to answer, so she didn't. 

"Do you think it's possible for two broken souls to mend one another?" Arya asked, still somewhat shocked about his admission. She placed her hand on his back, staring up at the stars like they'll spell out an answer for her. "To where they are both whole?"

"I hope it is possible, for our sake, little wolf," Jon replied nervously, reaching up and rustling her hair.

She didn't want to admit such things out loud, but she knew that Jon instinctively knew what ran through her mind. He pushed hair away from her face, hand making its way in her hair, running its fingers through it. Arya closed her eyes, welcoming the touch, uttering a sigh. _The sigh of a lover._

"Arya," he murmured, and she closed her eyes, letting the sound of his hushed yet rough voice fill her ears. He brushed his lips over hers, making her heart pound so loudly in her chest before kissing her fully. "You are so beautiful..."

His soft lips pressed against hers, sending a delightful shiver up her spine. The kisses only became more intense, with heat amalgamating at her centre. He unlaced her breeches, along with her simple brown leathers; she removed the tunic beneath, baring her full breasts to him. She bit her lip when she saw the pained look in Jon's eye, only to note that it wasn't actually pain he was feeling, but desire and awe; Arya then watched as he removed her smallclothes, slipping them from under her with ease. He ran his hand gently over the mess of curls that covered her, and to her left side, fingertips following the curve of her physique. 

"You've changed a lot, Arry," he breathed. He pulled away so he, too, could remove what he was wearing, letting each article fall to the ground in a puddle near his feet. She saw the healed stab wounds on his chest and reached out to touch them, only to withdraw when he sharply sucked in a breath.

 _Oh, Jon…just as broken as I am._ "So have you, Jon," she muttered dolorously. 

"We'll heal. We will heal, and everything will be better for us. I swear it to you, beloved," Jon said, eyes full of seriousness as he threaded their fingers together, cheeks pressed into the other as he spoke those words in her ear. Arya knew that it was a vow that could not be kept, yet there she was, desperately wanting to believe it. She pulled him closer to her, running her fingernails across the willowy skin of his unclothed back. 

_Beloved._ That was a word that Jon never said. It was so endearing, so new, that she was at a loss for words. 

She didn't want to think about anything right now. She just wanted him to love her, if just for a moment. She wanted to think about his touch, and how her body shivers and she becomes more self-aware as he plants gentle kisses on her neck, rolls his tongue around her nipples until they're rigid, or how his roughened hands feel when they dip betwixt her legs, rubbing boldly at her nub. She wanted to think about how perfect his lips feel against hers, so gentle and so warm, and how he speaks her name so reverently as if she is the only girl in the world he's ever desired. She wanted to think about how she shakes apart calling his name when he causes her to orgasm for the first time, how the world seemed to explode with colour and something new as she came with just two of his digits. How good it felt…

She managed to forget that she was simply a damaged girl plagued by war, and slowly started to feel complete again, like her soul was restoring itself piece by piece with each kiss and caress.

She uttered sounds that she didn't know she could make; squeals, whines, and moans bubbled from her throat, as Jon repeatedly told her how much he loved her while he held her arm firmly; he pulled her on top of him. 

"Are you ready for this?" He questioned, eyeing her as she righted herself and reached to stroke his manhood. She looked at him and gave him a nod, wondering what it would be like to lose her maidenhead to someone she truly cared about.

"Go ahead then," he urged, his voice low and husky. "Guide me."

His eyes rolled to the back of his head when Arya placed the tip of his cock at her entrance, leading it further and further deeper. She gasped at the same time he did, but for different reasons. She bit her lip to deal with the pain, and he stared at her curiously; as their gazes locked, he mustered a smile that she hadn't seen in the fortnight she had been back at Winterfell. 

They paused enough for her to get a feeling of him. His cock twitched inside of her, and she knew that she no longer felt pain, but immense pleasure, a pleasure that was building up in the pit of her stomach and radiating outward. Slowly, she began to move again; it wasn't long before his hips met hers and they moved synchronously at a slow, steady rhythm as she grew accustomed to the feeling of him penetrating her body. The only sounds that filled the night were their grunts and moans, as well as the hoots and calls of the nocturnal birds.

He repeatedly hit the spot that made her squirm and moan the loudest, eyeing her intently. Her legs squeezed them even closer, allowing him to push inside her to the hilt, her head lolling at the feeling. 

"Jon, Jon, _Jon,_ " she gasped. "I'm so…"

"Me too, love," he said breathlessly, taking a hand off her hip to cup her face as she leant forward, "so come with me."

She longed for the winter chill again. She felt nothing but fire claim her - she thought that just his fingers would let the world explode around her, but this…this was entirely different. 

His come filled her with each spurt at nearly the same time her walls caved, contracting while each wave of pleasure racking through her, tightening around her loving brother as he bit down gently on her shoulder to muffle his moans. As he slowly softened, he withdrew, and she began to feel...empty again, albeit satisfied. 

There was something final about this, like unspoken vows before the Gods. Being in the godswood, especially, surrounded by gods that only they now followed. Though Arya abhorred the idea of marriage, this is what it would feel like, in her mind, especially regarding consummation. It's an intense experience, she realised, one that was full of desire and tenderness, adulation, and, above all, love. Somewhere, deep down, she knew this was what she wanted. To be with someone that she loved, and someone who loved her in return, because as she thought, nothing was worse than sleeping with someone that you did not love. 

They held each other quietly, arms wrapped around each other, staring up at the stars while they catch their heavy breaths.

"We need to go back," Jon said finally. "What if Sansa woke up and searched for us?"

"She won't do that, stupid," Arya smiled at the reminder of her past. "You're thinking too much. Let her rest."

It was then that Jon took her hand in his, rubbing small circles slowly on the taut skin. "You're right. Stay out here with me for a little while."

"...you're going to be okay, Jon," she told him after realising that the circles he was made on her skin were drawn of nervousness. She knew what he was feeling - uncertainty, especially of the future. It was something that she could most certainly relate to.

"Will I? Will _we_?"

"We will."

Because she wanted to believe it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This one just tumbled out of me, but I debated posting this. 
> 
> Note: This fic was slightly inspired by two songs: _Touch_ by Daughter, and _Oceans_ by Seafret.


End file.
